Scrolling through document after document checking
texts, looking for a dreamlike beginning to this day,
trying to rest my mind in the enchanting verdigris of
the dress with sequins, beads and crystals my friend
wore to the wedding this weekend
Yet - the only thing that offers respite is Moist von
Lipwig’s antiques in imprisonment, the conman with
a love for mankind that enables him to exploit people’s
foibles without any stabs of conscience because he
knows there are no honest men
Offer anyone illegal profit and they will try to defraud
a seeming fool, exposing their own treasure house
ready for the plucking, only people who really love
people can forgive humanity’s ubiquitous lack of
morality while enjoying its benefits
Without feeling any guilt…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem